Tough Decisions
by Seeker19
Summary: Takes place after Bodies in the Book, before Sully asked Brennan to leave with him. I wanted to show Booth's point of view re Brennan/Sully, and the way he unselfishly and consistently put Brennan's happiness before his own.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: I don't own "Bones" or any of the characters. Fox, Barry Josephson and Hart Hanson do. No infringement is intended.

* * *

Special Agent Seeley Booth walked into Wong Foo's and headed for his special table. He ordered a bottle of scotch from the waitress and wondered idly where Sid was hiding. He was usually to be found in his spot behind the bar, but tonight he was nowhere to be seen. A few minutes later Sid emerged from the kitchen and headed for Booth's table.

"Long time no see, Booth."

"Hey, Sid. Yeah, I've been pretty busy lately."

"How come the pretty bone lady and her gang don't come around any more?"

"Well, I guess it's because your new location is nowhere near the Jeffersonian, and they don't live in this part of town."

"You look like you been working 24/7 for quite a while. Bad case?" asked Sid.

"No worse than usual, Sid. I guess I just need a vacation. "

In no time Sid was back with Booth's food. He frowned at the bottle of scotch that the waitress had delivered to go with it.

"That's going to ruin the unique flavor of this dish," he began.

Booth's response was short and to the point: "Listen, Sid, just leave it for now. You know I know when to stop."

Sid knew when to argue and when to shut up, but he kept an eye on Booth's table from his spot at the bar.

Booth took a drink of scotch and a couple of forkfuls of the food, but felt too tired to eat much. He hadn't mentioned his sessions with Dr. Wyatt to Sid, or the fact that he had been burning the midnight oil to make up for them. Not that the latter was a whole lot different from his usual routine. The only thing that had really changed was that his late night work sessions no longer revolved around his partner Dr. Temperance Brennan. Since she had become "involved" with Tim Sullivan, she left work on time, which meant that her late night work sessions with Booth over take-out had ceased to exist. It had also become pretty clear that Brennan no longer needed his friendship and emotional support the way she had done before Sully. At that thought Booth downed the rest of his drink and reached over to pour another from the bottle.

He didn't know why he was surprised. Any time he had a close relationship with a woman it always ended up like this: at first he was able to act the part of the outgoing, interesting, charming guy who was fun to be with and did not have a painful past to complicate things. But the closer the relationship got, the easier it was for the woman to see the cracks in his "public" façade and realize that the real Booth was not the persona he put on for public consumption. He had always been a loner, even as a kid, and his years as a sniper had just reinforced that. He found it difficult to hang out with the guys at work because they weren't like him—they had wives and families that loved them, and lives away from the job. Booth's parents were dead, and his brother Jared lived in California, which meant that he had no family to talk over his problems with. He had Parker, of course, but you couldn't really expect a five-year-old to listen to your problems and help you to gain perspective. Not that he had confided in his parents when they were alive—he had kept his problems to himself to keep from worrying them. This was especially true when he first came home after leaving the army. His parents had seen that something was bothering him and tried to get him to see a V.A. shrink, but Booth had denied any problems and refused to even consider "getting help" except for joining Gamblers Anonymous. They had helped him to overcome his gambling addiction, and he would always be grateful. But that had been that until the FBI ordered him to meet with Dr. Gordon Wyatt.

So here he was, halfway to retirement and feeling like he didn't have a whole lot to look forward to except for his son and his job. Lots of guys would probably love living the single life and having superficial relationships with multiple women, but Booth had always figured he'd end up like his dad, married young and a happily married family man. His father had managed it despite the fact that he'd been called to serve in Viet Nam in the middle of it. After he'd gotten out of the army, Booth had tried to follow in his dad's footsteps, but found out that he wasn't able to do it. At first he'd blamed it on the women he met and not himself, but as more and more of his relationships failed, he realized the failure was his fault. He couldn't blame them--who would want to put up with a workaholic who wasn't always able to act charming and entertaining, and who still suffered from nightmares about his experiences with combat, capture and torture during his time in the army. Cam and Rebecca had stuck it out the longest, but although he still considered both of them good friends, even they hadn't really wanted any part of "ever after" with him.

And then there was Brennan. He felt closer to her than he had felt to anyone in a long time, and he had opened up to Brennan more than he had to anyone else, ever. Yet the closer they became, the clearer it became that she wasn't interested in being anything other than "friends who work together." It was his problem that he wanted more than she did, not hers. And there were too many guys around like Sully who made the relationship thing seem easy: uncomplicated guys who didn't have any demons from the past to fight, and could be there for Brennan without allowing their own emotional baggage to get in the way. Booth had tried his utmost to be there for Brennan, and to keep his own problems out of the mix, but the closer their friendship became, the harder it was to hide. His recent run-in with the ice cream truck clown and the resulting suspension from duty were just the culmination of problems that had been boiling just below the surface for months.

Adding Epps to his long list of kills had started the nightmares again. The resulting lack of sleep had made his temper worse and his patience non-existent. The events of the past few weeks had brought the situation to a breaking point, and the thing with Epps had just accelerated matters. Worse, it had allowed Brennan to meet Sully, and to realize what she was missing working with Booth. He really couldn't blame her. Sully was able to get Brennan to "stop and smell the roses" which Booth had never been able to do--mainly because he wasn't the type to do it himself. With Booth, Brennan had been the same workaholic, stressed out, burnout case waiting to happen. Then the Epps case had happened, along with the subsequent fallout and his suspension. So Brennan had met Sully, and realized that he was everything that Booth was not.

Yet despite everything, Brennan still seemed to want to work with Booth, and that alone had helped in keeping their partnership viable after the clown incident. Brennan made fun of his sessions with the FBI shrink, but the truth was Booth needed them to relieve some of the pressure he felt. He knew that she felt uncomfortable around him these days. She hated psychology, and he was one big hell of a psychological mess. He didn't want Bones to feel obligated to stick with him as a partner just because he had helped her through a few rough spots. That would just be pathetic of him, and he refused to be a needy, pathetic loser. He knew that she would try to stick with him, and if it hadn't been for Sully he might have let her do it. But he didn't think he could take seeing her getting ever more deeply involved with Sully, maybe even getting married. He had endured a lot for her sake, but he didn't think he could take that. It never seemed to occur to her that hearing the details about her sex life with Sully might be more than Booth could take. Sometimes he wondered what planet Bones had come down from.

But he really couldn't hold it against her, though, because she seemed genuinely happy. After her bad experiences and trouble with her father and brother, she deserved a nice, uncomplicated, happy life with Sully, or somebody just like him. All that was left that Booth could do for her now was for him to break the awkward silence that had fallen between them about anything "personal" and let Bones off the hook. Booth sighed and rubbed his eyes. He'd spent the day at the office doing paperwork, and the low humidity always made him feel like he had grit in his eyes. He normally wasn't much of a drinker of hard liquor, but nowadays he found that it was the only thing that helped him to unwind and get to sleep before 3 am. Tonight he was dog tired, but not sleepy. He had been struggling with his decision for the last few weeks, and his sessions with Wyatt had helped him to deal with it. Now all he had to do was tell Brennan and his boss about his decision.

He looked up to see Sid standing in front of him.

"It's closing time," Sid announced, holding out his hand.

Booth looked at him in puzzlement for a minute, because he'd already paid for the food and the bottle. Then the light dawned, and he dug in his pocket and handed over his car keys.

"I can get Jerry to give you a ride home," Sid said.

"No, that's OK, I'll grab a cab," Booth replied. He got to his feet, swaying slightly, and struggled to pull his cell phone from his coat pocket.

Sid eyed him more closely and said, "I'm not sure you're in any shape to go home by yourself, even in a cab. What if somebody tried to rob you?"

"Look, Mother Shapiro, I'll be fine," Booth retorted indignantly. "I'm a trained Army Ranger and an FBI agent. I've got two guns. I think I can handle a cab ride from here to my door."

Sid looked at him in frustration. Booth's stubborn self-sufficiency made it almost impossible for his friends to try to help him, even though he did a lot to help his friends. This was especially true of the ones from his army days. Sid had always suspected that Booth had a lot to do behind the scenes with the loan on Wong Foo's being approved, but he had never been able to get Booth to confirm it. He knew he had recommended him highly to his bank loan officer buddy. Booth was that kind of guy—the kind who did a lot of his good deeds without telling anyone because getting recognition and/or gratitude for his kindness wasn't the reason he did them. Sid's grandmother would have called Booth an "everyday Christian" because he tried to live that way all the time, and didn't reserve his religion for Christmas and Easter.

"Look, Booth, I'm driving you home, and if you give me any more problems I'll knock you upside the head," Sid insisted in exasperation.

Irritated, Booth started to argue, but found the room was spinning so much he needed to grab the chair to steady himself.

"Okay, okay," he muttered. It was easier not to argue with Sid when he was like this.

Booth had little to say during the drive to his apartment beyond a subdued "Thanks" when Sid let him off at his door. Sid watched until he saw him enter the elevator lobby and then drove off. Booth staggered to his bedroom and fell onto the bed, but tired as he was his mind wouldn't allow him to sleep.

Booth really wasn't looking forward to the conversation with Brennan. He knew she would fight him on this, because she still saw him as a friend and wanted to "be there" for him. The only problem was, she wasn't interested in the role he wanted her to play, and he couldn't stand to continue in the only role he could ever fill in her life—work partner and "friend without benefits." She was obviously happier and better off without him, so he planned to perform one last official act as her Alpha male, control freak partner and request a reassignment so that she could work with Sully instead. It was the least he could do for her. He just hoped he could get her to accept it and get on with her life. Having made his decision, Booth was finally able to go to sleep, at least until surreal, uneasy dreams of pain, torture, and death awakened him once more.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews, they are appreciated. I just wanted to mention that this story is beginning to veer in a slightly different direction from what happened on the show, but that is because it's dictated by my totally different take on how Booth would have reacted to Bones/Sully. I found Booth's behavior in "Boneless Bride in the River" to be "off" based on the Seeley Booth I had come to know and love. So I guess you can call this AU for that reason. At any rate, here's the second chapter. Enjoy.

* * *

Booth sat morosely at his kitchen table with his umpteenth cup of black coffee. He hadn't gone back to sleep after the nightmare had jerked him awake, heart pounding and body drenched with sweat. Lack of sleep made his head and stomach feel like a construction crew was excavating to find the most painful areas. Black coffee and aspirin hadn't helped matters much. He sighed and massaged his aching temples with his fingers. He had thought that his problems with combat nightmares were over for the most part. Wyatt said that the most recent incidence of the recurring dream was a result of stress and his failure to deal with the original cause. Trying to push it out of his conscious mind and ignore it just caused it to be that much worse when his subconscious mind dredged it up again. Wyatt was always telling him stuff he didn't want to hear, but unfortunately he was usually right. Booth figured he'd deal with that later. 

Right now, he had more important things on his mind, and seeing Brennan was at the top of the list. Putting it off would just make it that much harder because the longer he delayed, the worse the anticipation would get. As for afterward, he'd just have to deal. His life without Bones was something he didn't really want to think about, but this wasn't about him. The sooner he saw her, the sooner she could get on with her life. That was the important thing. He stood up abruptly and headed for the shower.

* * *

Angela Montenegro yawned as she waited for the lab coffee maker to process enough caffeine to fill her "Artists Do It for Art's Sake" cup. She was alone in the lab today because Cam was in budget meetings, Zack was at a robotics conference, and Jack was making one of his rare appearances at a Cantilever Group board meeting. He had invited Angela to keep him company, but she had attended one such meeting and been bored out of her mind. Plus the other attendees had spent most of the time looking at her like some weird species of bug that Jack had brought in for their amusement. She did not feel any need to repeat that experience. 

As for Brennan, she had taken a personal day and Angela fervently hoped that it was in preparation for her imminent vacation with Sully. Thinking she might be shopping for sexy lingerie, Angela had offered to "go with," but Brennan had laughed and said she didn't need any help for what she had planned. Angela found it slightly frustrating that her friend wouldn't tell her what was going on, but at the same time she was ecstatic that Brennan's love life was finally showing signs of life. It might not be "true love," but it would do until something better came along. Best of all, Brennan seemed to be really enjoying herself, and was spending more and more time away from work with Sully. Angela was hoping for even more progress after their week away together.

Angela yawned again and out of the corner of her eye caught sight of a familiar tall figure heading toward Brennan's office—Special Agent Seeley Booth. She rushed out to catch him before he made the long walk back to the office area for nothing.

"Booth! Wait!" Booth turned and looked at her impatiently.

"What? Angela I don't have time to chat today. I need to see Bones right away." Booth looked unusually serious and purposeful, and Angela decided to nip this in the bud.

"Look, Booth, don't bother, Bren isn't here. She's out today," she announced triumphantly.

"What? Where? She didn't mention anything the last time I talked to her."

"She doesn't have to discuss everything with you G-Man. Especially now that she has an actual Personal Life outside of work." Angela grinned at his scowl.

She thought it would do Booth good to find out that he had some serious competition for Brennan's attention. Maybe it would even prod him into making a move himself instead of keeping his careful "close but not too close" distance the way he had up to now. She could tell that Brennan found it extremely frustrating. Then again, Brennan wasn't much better. She was very cautious about making any first moves as far as Booth was concerned. If it had been Angela she would have jumped his bones long ago.

Instead, Brennan and Booth circled warily around each other and maintained the "just good friends" fiction, despite the fact that the sexual tension between the two was so intense it made Angela want to lock them in a room and tell them to get on with it. "It" being a combination of mind-blowing sex and their own special brand of unshakable emotional connection, despite the fact that they were opposites in almost every way.

Booth was not in the mood for Angela's teasing.

"Do you know where she is, Angela?" he asked. "She isn't answering her phone, and I really need to talk to her."

Hands on hips, Angela shot back, "No I don't, Booth, and if I did I wouldn't tell you. She works hard and deserves to spend her time off without any interruptions from you. So don't you dare come around here with a new case for the next ten days minimum. I'm sure that whatever it is it's nothing that can't wait. This is the first vacation she's ever planned that didn't involve dead bodies or mass graves, and neither your case, the FBI nor anything else is important enough to take precedence over that."

Booth gave her one of his patented "If looks could kill, you'd be dead" looks, but it didn't phase Angela.

"And don't give me that 'Look' Seeley Booth. It won't do you any good. Like I said, I don't know where she is."

Booth saw that Angela was not in the mood to take him seriously and decided to try another approach.

"Look, Angela, I agree with you 100 percent about Bones' deserving her time off. I promise you it isn't another case, and it will only take a few minutes of her time. I really wouldn't ask if it wasn't pretty important," he said persuasively.

But Angela didn't budge. "Sorry, Booth. Tell you what, I'll leave a message for you if you want," she offered in a fake helpful tone of voice. Instead of the sarcastic retort she expected, Booth's face was suddenly wiped clean of any anger, impatience or other emotion.

"Fine," he said in the flat tone of an automaton. It was the face that Angela had always imagined Booth wore as a sniper—emotionless and single-minded. "Tell her…" Booth stopped in mid-sentence and changed what he was going to say. "Never mind, there's no message," he continued, and turned on his heel and headed for the exit. If Bones didn't want to be bothered, he wasn't going to make a nuisance of himself. That was not how he wanted her to remember him.

"Booth, wait, what's wrong?" Angela was worried now, all thought of teasing Booth forgotten. She didn't think she had ever seen him act this way before. "Listen, maybe I can get in touch with her somehow."

"Forget it, Angela. I get it. She'll call me when she's ready to go back to work and not before," Booth said over his shoulder. Angela watched worriedly as he quickly walked to the lab exit and disappeared. She hurried to leave Brennan an urgent voice mail asking her to call back as soon as possible.

* * *

Back in his car, Booth wanted to punch a wall in frustration. He had psyched himself up to talk to Brennan, but for the first time in a long time, what he wanted wasn't on her list of priorities. He was beginning to think it might just be better to talk to Cullen first and just present Brennan with a _fait accompli._ But the thought that Bones would be hurt if she wasn't the first to know what he planned to do stopped him. "It's not about you," he reminded himself. He would just have to wait until Bones decided she wanted to contact him. 


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: I had thought I could wrap this up in about three chapters, but the more I wrote, the more complicated my plot seemed to get. But don't worry, that means there's more B/B angst to go around. Right?

* * *

Dr. Temperance Brennan was enjoying herself. Her shopping trip had yielded several new outfits that were suitable to wear on a boat. She wasn't sure exactly what kind of boat Sully had rented, but she had added a pair of expensive deck shoes because they supposedly had the right kind of sole to prevent slipping on the tilting deck of a ship. She didn't want to lose her footing and fall overboard due to unsuitable shoes. She was actually starting to get a little excited about their vacation. She almost didn't feel like herself—here she was looking forward to nine days without thinking about bones or work of any kind. Sully's attitude must be catching, like the measles. She should tell Booth to have lunch with Sully, so that he could catch it too. He had been too serious and preoccupied lately. 

Smiling at the thought, she looked at her watch, and decided to stop and have a cool drink before the afternoon traffic got too bad and she had to head home. She checked her messages while waiting for her order. There were no messages from Sully, but she expected that because he had said he would be extra busy clearing his desk before their vacation started. There was one message from Booth and she had two from Angela. She had told both of them not to call unless the lab was on fire, but Booth had a tendency to ignore what he didn't want to hear, and Angela was probably just calling to find out what she was up to.

As she expected, Booth's message was unexciting:

"Hi, Bones, I need to talk to you before you leave on your trip. It won't take long. Give me a call. Thanks." Brennan decided to call him later as he didn't sound like anything was particularly urgent.

Angela's messages were a different story. The first was marked "Urgent!" and said "Sweetie, please call ASAP. It's Urgent!" The second said "Bren, I know you're busy, but the LAB IS ON FIRE! CALL ME!" Brennan sighed in exasperation, and silently vowed to kill Angela if she was calling just because she was nosy and wanted to find out where she'd been.

Angela answered on the first ring, "Oh thank God! Have you talked to Booth yet?"

"No, Angela, I haven't talked to Booth. I called you first because you were the one who said the lab was on fire. What is so urgent that it can't wait?"

"Listen, sweetie, I think something might be seriously wrong with Booth. He was here first thing this morning looking for you. He said he had to talk to you about something important. At first I didn't realize that anything was wrong, so I told him to leave you alone because you deserved your time off—you know, in a kind of half serious and half joking way? Then when I wouldn't tell him where you were, he got all stone-faced and terse and left here like a bat out of hell. I've never seen him like that before, it was scary."

"Well, what was wrong? What did he say? Was it a case? The message he left for me didn't make it sound urgent or serious. More like he had a question about a lab report or something. I'm sure it's nothing. He probably just wants to give me a hard time for 'goofing off' by going on vacation," Brennan answered. Booth was nothing if not single minded. His own vacations had gotten a lot shorter in the last couple of years, and always involved doing what Parker wanted to do. Booth was so tense and preoccupied lately, she thought that he needed a real "getaway from it all" vacation even more than she did. He hadn't had one since the time Tessa had backed out of going with him at the last minute.

Angela shook her head. "I don't think so, Bren. Do you remember how you said he acted after Epps was killed? All edgy and quiet, and refusing to make eye contact, and then jumping up and leaving like he couldn't stand to be in the room any longer? That is what he was like today. I tried to stop him then, but he said 'never mind' in this really awful voice. It was like he didn't think you would bother to call him back. Did you two have a fight or something?"

"No, of course not. Well, no more than usual. Look, hang up and I'll call him and find out what this is all about. There has to be a logical explanation. Maybe something happened with Parker or Rebecca." Brennan cut the connection and quickly hit speed dial for Booth. When she got the "Not available" recording she left a message. Then she called his office. She got his voice mail there too, so she left a message and then called the departmental secretary.

"Hello, Ms. Adams? This is Temperance Brennan. I'm trying to reach Agent Booth. Has he been in today?" she asked.

"No, Dr. Brennan, he hasn't. He was here all day yesterday though," Ms. Adams replied brightly as if that would help. "Do you want me to tell him you called?"

"Yes, thank you. I left a voice mail but let's do both. Can you tell me what case he was signed out on today?"

"Let me check." There was a pause, then "I'm sorry, Dr. Brennan, but apparently Agent Booth called in some time this morning and left a message that he had a personal emergency. I can check with Director Cullen's secretary, but I don't think he talked to Agent Booth or anything."

Brennan waited impatiently, but Ms. Adams reported that Booth hadn't talked to anyone as far as she could determine. Biting her lip, Brennan decided to call Rebecca. She was disappointed to find out that Rebecca hadn't heard from him since he had called to talk to Parker a few days before.

"He said he was burning the midnight oil trying to catch up on his cases, so he might not be able to see Parker this weekend. Why? Is something else wrong?" Rebecca asked, clearly puzzled.

"No, not that I know of. We've just been playing phone tag and I thought you might have heard from him, that's all. Thanks, Rebecca. I'm sorry to have bothered you," Brennan replied and hung up. There was no sense in alarming Rebecca unnecessarily until she had more information.

Next Brennan stopped at Booth's apartment and found that his car was missing and no one answered the door. She was beginning to get annoyed with Booth's "Now you see me, now you don't" act. "He's probably just doing this to keep me from leaving on vacation," she muttered to herself, but deep down she really didn't believe that Booth would do that. When Sully called, the first thing she asked him was whether he had seen Booth.

"Nope, I haven't seen him, but that's not surprising since I haven't been in the office today. Don't worry about Booth, he can take care of himself. He'll turn up eventually, like a bad penny," Sully replied unconcernedly. "Let's change the subject to something more pleasant. Are you packed yet?" he asked in a teasing voice. "The official vacation countdown has begun, you know."

"No, I'm a last minute packer. It saves me from wasting a lot of wardrobe decision-making time if I pack in a hurry," she replied. "Listen, I'm sorry, but I have another call," she lied. "I'll see you for dinner tomorrow as planned. Bye." She knew she had been rude, but didn't care. Booth had become her top priority now.

Brennan finally decided to head back to the Jeffersonian, hoping that Booth might have surfaced again. At the entrance to the lab, she found Dr. Gordon Wyatt instead. It seemed that he was looking for Booth too.

"Hello Dr. Brennan, how are you?" he asked politely. "I was in the area and decided to stop by and find out why Agent Booth missed his appointment this morning. He hasn't yet returned my call, so I presume that the two of you were working on an urgent case of some sort."

"No, Dr. Wyatt, as a matter of fact I haven't seen Booth either. According to his office he had a personal emergency, but no one seems to know what that's about," Brennan replied, as she opened the door and led the way back to her office. "Angela saw him this morning and said he seemed to be pretty upset about something. I don't suppose that you could shed any light on that." As they made their way into her office she motioned for him to sit down.

Dr. Wyatt looked slightly taken aback, but concerned. "Well, there are several matters that might conceivably have affected Agent Booth's state of mind, but of course I can't discuss those with you due to patient confidentiality. I'm sorry."

Exasperated, Brennan said, "Well that's not very helpful, is it? Is there _anything _you can say that might help us, or are you just going to sit there and look decorative?"

"I assure you that I am just as concerned about Agent Booth as you are," Dr. Wyatt replied soothingly. "Unfortunately, my hands are tied with regard to anything in any way related to his therapy." He paused for a moment and stared hard at Brennan as though trying to send a psychic message.

Then out of the blue he announced, "On an unrelated topic, I would like to point out as a matter of general interest that if you google 'Problems of returning combat veterans' on the V.A. internet site, you will find that they are most helpful and informative in several areas." With that he stood up, saying, "I'm afraid that I must leave now. I have another appointment. Please keep me informed and let me know if you hear from Agent Booth. If we can just locate him, I'm sure that I can help him work through whatever is causing this. Don't bother to get up, I'll see myself out."

Brennan didn't even bother to watch him go, but turned on her computer and hurriedly followed his suggestion about the V.A. web site. Angela came rushing in as she was reading the information she found there. It looked like she had ordered takeout because she had a bag from a local Chinese food place.

"Sweetie, what did Wyatt say? Did he know what happened to Booth? Have you found him yet? I've been so worried I'm a nervous wreck. I am _so_ glad you're here."

"Give me a minute, Ange," Brennan replied as she hastily read what she found on the V.A. site, quickly zeroing in on the section about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. She also found several links to other sites about PTSD. She highlighted the pertinent information and printed out several pages. "Dr. Wyatt wouldn't discuss Booth's case with me, but he told me I would find it very interesting if I googled "problems of returning combat veterans" on the V.A. site. I'm pretty sure that he was hinting that Booth is suffering from post traumatic stress disorder due to the trauma he suffered when he was captured and tortured in the Gulf war." She handed the printout to Angela, who proceeded to read the top sheet out loud:

_Recurring nightmares of the trauma are dramatic and  
disturbing. Nightmares, anxiety, or depression can  
disturb sleep. The person may remain tense and  
anxious throughout the day, and may startle easily._

_As they become more mentally involved with these  
experiences, the traumatized individuals begin to  
withdraw from the world, show less emotion, and  
become disinterested in people and activities that  
were once important. They avoid any situations that  
might stimulate memories of the traumatic event.  
Guilt, depression, and sudden outbursts of aggressive  
behavior may also surface. Drug and alcohol abuse  
develop in some as they attempt to manage these  
responses._

_The person with post-traumatic stress disorder must  
have an opportunity to talk about the traumatic  
experience and, eventually, to feel the emotions  
associated with it. As he works through these feelings,  
he can begin to connect the trauma with the rest of his  
life. Part of that connection will be an ability to let past  
events remain in the past instead of continuing to  
surface in the present._

"Oh, God, Bren, this explains a lot: Booth shooting the clown and the way he's been acting off and on since Epps died. Come to think of it, he looked like he hadn't been sleeping. Do you think Wyatt thinks Booth is in danger of cracking up or something?"

"I have no idea. Obviously he understands Booth's behavior a lot better than we do. It's too bad his vow of silence makes him worthless in helping to find Booth," Brennan sighed in frustration. "I've called everybody I can think of who might have heard from Booth. I talked to Rebecca and his secretary, and even Sully. I really don't know what to do next. Booth is the one who always tells _me_ why people do the things they do, and extrapolates what they'll do next and how to find them. Do you have any ideas? I really hate psychology, Ange."

Angela started to shake her head, but then a light bulb seemed to come on. "Wait, Bren, what about Sid? Did you call him? Maybe Booth is at Wong Foo's," she suggested excitedly. "Quick, look up their new number and we'll call him." But a quick call to Sid revealed that he hadn't seen Booth since his visit the night before. He told Brennan what he knew, and promised to call a few of Booth's other old army buddies to find out if they had heard from him.

"It seemed like something was weighing on his mind, that's for sure," Sid concluded. "I'll let you know if I find out anything."

"Well, I don't think there's anything else we can do tonight Ange," Brennan said after hanging up the phone. "You might as well go home. When is Jack due back from New York?"

"He was supposed to be there until tomorrow night," Angela replied, "but I called him and told him to come home early. We need all the help we can get."

"Don't worry, Ange. I may not know much about psychology, but I do know one thing: there's no way on earth Booth would ever do anything to deprive Parker of his father. He told me that he took a solemn oath when Parker was born to always be there for him, and I know he'd never break that. Whatever is troubling him, he'll come back for Parker's sake. Go on home, Ange. I'll see you tomorrow." Angela protested that she wanted to stay and try to help, but Brennan convinced her it wasn't necessary. "What are you going to do here? Help me worry? You can do that just as well at home. Besides, you should meet Jack's flight."

"All right, Bren, but promise you'll call me if you hear anything. Why don't I leave this food for you. I'll bet you haven't had anything to eat. I'll go warm it up in the microwave for you."

After Angela left, Brennan sat in her office reading all she could find on the internet about PTSD. The fact that Wyatt was so concerned had finally made her understand that something really serious might be going on with Booth. She couldn't believe she had missed the signs that Booth was still having problems. Well, she hadn't exactly missed them. She had noticed the changes in his behavior in the weeks since Epps died because she was trained to do so, but she hadn't understood what they meant, brushing them off as unimportant. She had known about the sessions with Wyatt, of course, but had never really taken them seriously because Booth had downplayed their importance. Some partner she had turned out to be--she had made fun of his therapy instead of being supportive and trying to help him through it. To top it all off, instead of being there for Booth, she had spent almost all of her time with Sully, and had seen Booth only when absolutely necessary for work reasons. And as he always did, Booth had tried to hide his problems or make light of them around her.

Yet when it came to _her_ problems, Booth had been there for her, time and time again. He had risked his life for her, rescued her, and comforted her wherever and whenever she needed him. Booth, with his brilliant, intuitive understanding of human behavior, had known what she needed and provided it--quietly and without calling attention to the fact. Without her realizing it, he had made himself necessary to her, and he had successfully overcome all of her attempts to reject his help. She suddenly realized that the only reason she could feel happy and carefree with Sully was because subconsciously she knew that Booth was there if she needed him. Brennan wished she could say that she had done the same for Booth, but she knew that she hadn't. She was determined that she would be different from now on. She couldn't imagine her life without Booth, and she promised herself that she would do whatever it took to help him. That's what real friends did for each other. It was the least she could do, and if it meant giving up her vacation with Sully, then she would give it up gladly. As she had done so many times in the past during a crisis, Brennan spent the night curled up on her office couch. Something about being in the Jeffersonian always helped her to think more clearly. But sleep was a long time coming as Brennan's mind raced through various possibilities for finding Booth. If only this was a case where logic and rationality could predict the outcome. Just as she was finally beginning to doze, her mind suddenly jerked her awake. Hank! Booth's friend from the army who was now a judge. _He_ might know where Booth was, or at least have some idea of how to find him. She hurriedly got up and went to her computer to find out how to contact him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note**: I hope that you are all still reading. The story is getting down to the good stuff, and so the writing is going a little slower. I want to be sure to get the B/B confrontation as right as I can, so the next couple of updates will probably take longer than they have up to now. This is my first fan fic of any kind, so I'm open to suggestions. I know that when I write I tend to be a little wordy. (I'm definitely no Hemingway or Norman Maclean, for you literary-minded types.) For some reason, I find it easier to write Booth's thoughts because I feel like I know where he's coming from. Therefore, this fic is pretty Booth-centric. Hopefully I'm getting him right, because I think he deserves our understanding. IMO, his life experience has in many ways been even more traumatic than Brennan's, but they haven't really spent much time on it in the TV show. So a few of us find it necessary to write fan fics like this one to remedy that lack. As always, reviews and suggestions are welcome.

* * *

Booth drove carefully down the rural mountain road in western Virginia. It was easy to miss the turnoff to the cabin in the dark. He had decided to take a couple of days away from everything and everybody to get back to normal. Or what passed for normal for him anyway, he thought wryly. He didn't want Parker to see him given the shape he was in, so he was glad he had called Rebecca earlier in the week and told her he had to work. He felt like he was beginning to get out of control and he didn't like the feeling. Wyatt had told him that having the recurring nightmare pop up during times of stress was normal, and that he shouldn't try to suppress the feelings and memories because that just made it worse. That was easy for him to say, extremely difficult to do. 

Booth had studied enough psychology both in college and after he joined the Bureau to know that his extreme need to be in control of every situation was due in large part to that period when he had been helpless and had no control over what happened to him. The physical abuse—the torture—had been bad, but somehow that pain had been easier to forget than the painful emotions that had been engendered. He hadn't been able to sleep then either, because as soon as you slept, they dragged you out of the hole and back into the torture room to begin again . . .

"NO!" Booth didn't even realize that he had said the word out loud as he slammed on the brakes of his memories of what had happened in that room. He found that he had unconsciously slammed on the brakes on his car too. "God damn it!" he muttered under his breath, and after a quick look around felt grateful that the road was deserted. It was lucky that he was almost there because it was beginning to be difficult to keep his mind on his driving. After another few miles he heaved a sigh of relief and turned down the gravel road to the cabin.

He pulled up outside and dug the key out of his jacket pocket. His buddy Hank Luttrell owned the cabin, but he seldom used it and then usually only in the summer when his kids were out of school. But he had given Booth a key and told him to feel free to use it any time he needed it. Booth got out of the car and stretched, feeling his arm, back and leg muscles complaining due to the long car ride. He grabbed the box of supplies off of the back seat and headed inside.

It wasn't a huge cabin. There were a couple of tiny bedrooms in the back, with a small bathroom with shower, and a larger living/kitchen area in the front. It had a small generator for electricity, but Booth didn't bother to turn it on. Of course that meant he had to use the hand pump for water, and the outdoor toilet, but that was OK for the night. He'd see to the generator in the morning. He lit the kerosene lamp and the fire already laid in the pot-bellied stove. That would take the chill off of things in no time.

He opted to stay in the main room and make use of the comfortable chair and foot stool in front of the fire rather than use one of the unmade bunks. They were too short for him anyway. He squinted at his watch and it read 1:28 AM. He grabbed the bottle of scotch and a glass from the cupboard and sat down, pouring just enough to allow him to sleep. Of course the dream would wake him up again, but he figured he could get in a good two or three hours before that happened. According to what he had read on the subject, as long as he wasn't reliving the dream while he was _awake_, he was in pretty good shape. Once you started having "flashbacks" while you were awake, you could turn into a candidate for a padded room real fast. Booth was extremely grateful he wasn't there yet. And he wouldn't be, if he had anything to say about it. Wyatt had given him plenty of literature to read on the subject. But one pamphlet in particular had stuck out in his mind. He had read it so often he had it memorized:

_The ability to do whatever it takes to survive is instinctive. We all have it,  
and in traumatic enough situations, it will come out or we die. Extreme  
situations which trigger this reaction again and again may cause survivors  
to do things in order to survive which can be hard to look back on later.  
Similarly shutting down feelings in order to do whatever it takes to survive,  
or do your job and help others survive, is a reality-based survival skill.  
Numbness is the answer. It is effective. It will help you live._

_ Unfortunately when survivors numb their fear, despair and anger, all their  
feelings, even good ones, are numbed. Numbness is comfortable. Thinking  
about what they have been through is so painful survivors wind up avoiding  
thinking about, feeling, or doing anything that reminds them of the trauma.  
For example, if they feel the trauma was their fault they may spend the rest  
of their life having to be right so they won't ever be at fault again. If they  
were happy when the trauma hit, they may avoid happiness forever._

Booth knew that this applied to everyone who had experienced a severe trauma in his or her life—from combat to rape to being near Ground Zero on 9/11. Knowing the psychology behind what you were feeling helped, but it didn't make it any easier to work through the events that made up the nightmare. It felt like high wire walking without a net—extremely difficult, extremely dangerous and very, very scary. He knew he would have to do it—eventually—but right now he had enough to deal with because of the situation with Bones.

He closed his eyes and immediately a picture of Bones popped into his mind, much to his chagrin. He wondered what she and Sully would do on their vacation, and then wished he hadn't. He knew what _he_ would be doing, given half a chance. Unfortunately, that wasn't gonna happen. Bones didn't seem to think of him that way. There had been times in the past few years when he had thought she was sending out different signals, but they never led to anything, and they always seemed to end up back in the "just good friends" mode. Of course, Bones allowed him to give her "friendly" hugs during times of great emotional stress, but other than that she seemed fine without any physical contact other than small things like a hand on the arm or back. The kind of thing you did for any woman, including your grandmother.

Apparently, all the men Bones knew in the right age range were categorized in one of three groups: lovers, colleagues, or platonic friends, and he was kept firmly in one of the latter two groups. He wasn't sure when or how that had happened, because at the beginning there had been definite sexual sparks between them. God knew, he still felt them. But somewhere, somehow, he had become more useful to Bones as a friend, and any other possibilities had been ruthlessly kept at bay. Maybe it was because they had to work together. "Or maybe she's just not that into you," he thought resignedly. Unfortunately, that was way more likely.

Booth swallowed another shot of scotch, closed his eyes, and leaned back in exhaustion. Sometimes it helped him sleep to think of the recent time he'd spent with Parker. The last time he had been over to Booth's apartment, they had built a fort of popsicle sticks. Parker hadn't wanted to build the standard, boring square that his dad had envisioned. His creative design had resulted in much hilarity and fun for both of them. He was so lucky to have Parker in his life. He was the one person who loved Booth without reservation and without second thoughts. Booth never wanted to give him a reason to regret that love. He smiled again thinking about the fort, and wondered idly if Parker would become an architect, or maybe an engineer. He would be smarter than his old man, that was for sure. On that happy thought Booth slid slowly into sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note**: Well, it's been a very long week and real life has prevented me from updating until now. Next week looks just as bad, but I managed to finish the following chapter. Please let me know what you think. Thanks.

* * *

Brennan walked swiftly through the criminal courts building after signing in at the entrance. She was headed toward the offices of Judge Hank Luttrell, one of Booth's buddies from his army days. She had called earlier and told him about Booth's disappearance, and he had suggested that she meet him at his chambers. He was one of Booth's oldest friends, and she hoped that he could help her to find out where Booth had gone. 

"Go in, Dr. Brennan, Judge Luttrell is expecting you," his secretary waved her in when Brennan entered her office.

"Good morning, Judge Luttrell, thank you for seeing me on such short notice,:" Brennan said as she entered his office.

"Dr. Brennan, how are you?" he said as he propelled his wheel chair forward to shake her hand. "Sit down, and please call me Hank. I only wish we were meeting under better circumstances. You said on the phone that Booth has disappeared and no one knows where," he said with a concerned frown. "This isn't like him at all. Do you have any idea what happened to make him act like this?"

"No, Hank, I don't know for certain," Brennan replied. "However, I think it may have something to do with the fact that he is having nightmares about combat again, specifically about being captured and tortured. As to what might have triggered it, we had a case involving a serial killer called Howard Epps, who escaped from prison. We had him cornered on a balcony and he jumped off. Booth tried to save him, but was unable to hold onto him, and he fell to his death. Booth blamed himself and has been having problems ever since. He's more or less taken an oath that he wouldn't kill again unless it was absolutely necessary to save someone else's life. Since Epps died, he's been very moody, and his temper has been unpredictable at best. He's been seeing an FBI psychiatrist as a result."

"I heard about the Epps case through the grapevine, and of course I read what was reported in the papers," Hank replied. "I called Booth and invited him to dinner with us, but he said he didn't have time to come. I haven't seen or talked to him since then, I'm afraid. How do you think I can help you?"

"Hank, I called you because I was hoping you would have some idea where Booth has gone," Brennan said urgently. "I've talked to Rebecca, and some of his other friends, but no one has any ideas. You've known him as long as anyone. Can you think of _anything_ that might help me figure out where he could have gone?"

Hank shook his head, "As I said, I haven't even talked to him for several months. Unfortunately, I don't have any idea how he spends his time any more. The last time I saw him he didn't have much to say, except when he talked about Parker. And you, of course. But then it's always been like pulling teeth to get him to talk about his personal problems."

"Are you sure, Hank? Is there any place he went to in the past—somewhere before he was in the FBI or before Parker was born?" Brennan asked.

"No, I don't really know of any … Wait a minute, there is a place he used to go when he first got out of the army. I have an old cabin in the mountains that I inherited from my grandfather. I always let my friends use it because I didn't go there that much when the kids were small. Booth used to go there on weekends quite a bit before Parker was born. If he needed to get away from everything, maybe he went there," Hank replied excitedly. "There's no phone, and you can't get through on Booth's cell phone because it's so isolated, but I think it's worth checking out."

"If you'll give me directions, I'll leave right away," Brennan said.

"I'll do better than that, I'll draw you a map. It's pretty hard to find the cabin without one," he said, pulling a pad of paper toward him and beginning to sketch. "Let me know as soon as you find him, Dr. Brennan, or if I can be of any other help," Hank said, handing her the map. "I owe Booth more than I can ever repay."

"I will, Hank, and thank you," she replied. As she hurried toward her car, she thought about the times Booth had saved her life, and about how many times he had been there for her when her family let her down. "I owe him, too," she muttered to herself. "More than I can ever repay." She blinked away the sudden moisture in her eyes at the thought that she might not get the chance to try.

She debated whether to take the time to drop by her apartment and grab the small bag she always kept packed in case she was called away unexpectedly. In the end, she decided that she would undoubtedly need the contents, and a few minutes more wouldn't make that much difference. On the way there, she called Angela and Jack, who had left a message on her cell phone.

"Angela, I just got through talking to Hank Luttrell. He has a cabin in the mountains that Booth may be using. I'm going there immediately," she said briefly.

"Sweetie, don't you want us to come with you. If nothing else, you need us for moral support," Angela replied.

"No, Ange, I don't think so. I'm pretty sure that Booth would hate it if he knew that so many people knew about his personal business, and that we were asking everyone for help looking for him. As his friend, I need to go after him on my own so that he won't be too upset. I promise to let you know as soon as I find anything out." She then explained about the lack of cell phone service, but promised to get word to them somehow.

"All right, Bren, but please be careful," Angela said in a worried tone.

"Ange, don't be silly. I'm in no danger from Booth," Brennan snorted incredulously.

"Sweetie, if Booth has suffered some kind of breakdown as a result of PTSD, you have no way of knowing if he's dangerous or not," Angela replied. "Just promise me that you'll keep that in mind and act accordingly." Angela's voice sounded really upset. "Remember that if he's having a nightmare or flashback, you're not supposed to try to wake him up, because he could hurt you without knowing that you aren't part of the nightmare."

"All right, Angela," Brennan said placatingly. "I promise I'll be careful. Good-bye."

Angela was wrong, she thought. There was no way that Booth would ever hurt her. She knew that as well as she knew the sun would come up tomorrow. It was a given--like a scientific law: Seeley Booth protected the people he cared about. As she had once told Jack, she believed it because she had seen proof that it was true, not because of some kind of untried "faith." Unlike her father, Booth would never, ever hurt her.

When she arrived at her apartment, Brennan quickly looked up the county sheriff's office in the area where Booth had gone. She called and told them that she urgently needed to talk to Booth about a case, but that she couldn't reach him because his cell phone was out of range. She asked them to let Booth know that she needed to see him, and that she was on the way. They agreed to send one of their deputies by when he made his regular rounds in the area. Brennan hoped that she wasn't sending the deputy there on a wild goose chase. But somehow, she had the feeling that she was on the right track to finding Booth. "Maybe Booth's 'gut' feelings are finally rubbing off on me," she thought with a wry smile. She grabbed her overnight bag, knapsack and keys, and headed for the door. But when she opened it, Sully was standing there with his hand raised to knock. He looked extremely upset.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note**: I thought I wouldn't get this finished, but it was a lot easier to write than I thought. IMO, this is how Brennan _should _have responded to Sully's infamous proposition on the show, instead of acting like a lovesick teenager about him when she barely knew him. The Brennan I know and love is made of sterner stuff. IMO, she was totally out of character during most of that story arc. Your comments are appreciated.

* * *

Sully ignored Brennan's unwelcoming expression and stormed past her into her apartment. "Tempe, where have you been? I've been trying to get hold of you since last night, but you haven't returned any of my calls," he said in an aggrieved voice. 

"I left you a message that I had been called away on an urgent matter," she replied calmly, "As a matter of fact, I was just about to leave."

"I can't believe that you were just going to leave town without at least discussing it with me! What could possibly be more important than our trip? Is it a case? Did Booth get you to cancel the trip for a case? Is that it?" Sully yelled. At the mention of the name "Booth," Brennan's expression changed subtly and Sully caught it.

"I knew it! I knew Booth would pull something like this to try to ruin our trip. Don't listen to him, Tempe. Believe me, there's no case right now that can't wait a week. You can deal with it when you get back. Booth is just trying to break us up because he wants you all to himself."

Brennan's expression had grown colder and colder at Sully's petulant rant. "Actually it has nothing to do with a case," she said in an icy tone. "It involves my personal business, and as such it is none of _your _business whatsoever. And it is a great deal more important to me than our vacation."

"Tempe, you don't believe that. I know you, Tempe, better than anyone else, better than you know yourself. We're so alike, so compatible. We enjoy being together and we're interested in the same things. You need to get away from your work here and enjoy life before it's too late. You need me, Tempe. You need me to show you how to enjoy life and have fun."

Infuriated at his arrogant presumption that she _needed_ him for anything, Brennan had had enough.

"You think you know me better than anyone else?" she sneered. "How can you possibly know me? We met less than two months ago. We've been dating for five weeks and we've been having sex for less than that. That amount of time is not nearly enough for you to know anything about the real me! I'm an intelligent, complex human being, not some two-dimensional, superficial Barbie doll you can learn all about in five minutes! How dare you assume that you can know all about me in that length of time?"

"All right, all right. So we can spend this time learning all about each other, " Sully wheedled, backpedaling as fast as he could.

Brennan ignored his attempt at a placating expression. "The more I learn about you the less I like it. I am nothing like you. I can't give up the work that I love to become some kind of beach bum. I need something to occupy my brain other than lolling on the beach and admiring you and your muscles while you fish. I'd be bored to tears in less than 24 hours with just you for company. Now if you'll excuse me, someone very important to me needs me right now," she continued, "someone who has been a better friend to me than you could ever be. If you think I'm going to risk my friend's life and health for a few days of sex on a stupid boat with you, then you don't understand me at all, and you never will."

As Sully stared at her in flabbergasted silence, Brennan picked up her bags and said frostily, "Now get out of my way. I've wasted enough time talking to you already." She waited for Sully to exit. Then she walked out the door, slammed it shut behind her, locked it, and stalked off toward the parking lot, leaving Sully fuming impotently behind her.

"Good riddance," she thought angrily. "I can't imagine what I ever saw in an idiot like him. The nickname 'Peanut' must have been a literal reference to the size of his brain."

* * *

As she drove down the mountain road, Brennan kept trying to call Booth, but there was no cell phone service this far away from any town. "Damn it," she muttered in frustration. She had gotten a call from the sheriff's department saying that Booth had apparently been to the cabin, but hadn't been there when the deputy knocked on the door. He had left a message for Booth to contact them when he returned. Meanwhile, she had been driving for hours, and was beginning to wish she had hired someone to fly her here. It was almost dark. Even with Hank's map, she had made a couple of wrong turns and had had to stop for directions three times. She finally found the stone marker that indicated her turnoff, and drove carefully down the gravel road.

She gave a huge sigh of relief when the cabin came into view and she saw Booth's car parked under a carport next to it. She went up the steps and tapped on the door, but there was no answer. She tried the door and found it unlocked, so she went in. She looked around the rooms, but there was no sign of Booth, unless you counted the half-empty bottle of scotch on the table by the rocking chair and the box on the kitchen table. She turned and headed back outside to see if she could find any sign of where Booth had gone. She hoped he hadn't gone walking in the woods and broken an ankle or something. She didn't like to think of him in pain and with no hope that anyone would come looking for him.

"Don't worry, Booth," she promised under her breath, "I may be a little late, but I'll be here for you from now on."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note**: Well, I had a little spare time, so I managed to do another chapter. We are getting close to the end, so I hope you're all still with me. Let me know what you think, please. Thanks.

* * *

As he walked back to the cabin from the surrounding woods, Booth stooped to gather a few more of the smaller branches to add to his armful. While the cabin had a fairly good supply of logs to burn, there wasn't much kindling in the box. He breathed in the cool mountain air and allowed himself to enjoy the feeling. He had always felt like he thought more clearly up here, for some reason. He should try to visit the place more often from now on. He knew that Hank wouldn't mind.

A slight sound made his head whip around toward his car. He stared in disbelief for a second and then closed his eyes. Maybe he had been wrong about not having hallucinations while he was awake, because he thought he had just seen Brennan peering into his car. He was either dreaming, or losing it, big time. When he opened his eyes again, she was still there. He laid his burden down in the wood box and began walking toward the carport. Why in the world was Bones here, and more importantly, how had she tracked him down?

"Bones? What are you doing here?" came out with a raspy sound. That's what six hours sleep over three days did for you. Immediately she turned around and the look on her face was a combination of shock and—was it relief?

"Booth! You scared me! I didn't hear a sound," she gasped. "I'm so glad that you're all right," she continued. "I've been so worried about you."

Booth felt like his mind wasn't quite functioning properly. Could this be a dream, brought on by too much scotch and too little sleep? Brennan was off with Sully on a boat somewhere. Wasn't she? Her sudden appearance here at the cabin did not make sense.

He voiced the first thought that came into his head, "Aren't you supposed to be on vacation?" At her nod, he continued, "What happened? Did Sully get sick or something."

"No, I just decided that I couldn't go with him after all," she replied evasively.

Booth stared at Brennan with concern. It sounded like a classic case of Bones pushing the guy away when he got too close. This had to be a major personal crisis for her. Maybe that's why she had come looking for him.

"I'm sorry, Bones. I thought that you two were really hitting it off. Are you OK?"

Bones looked almost angry at that. It was just like Booth to worry about her even when he should be worried about his own problems.

"Booth, will you please stop worrying about _me_ all the time? What about _you_? Are _you_ OK?"

Booth blinked at her, unable to figure out why she was so upset. What could possibly have set her off, and sent her all the way out to the boondocks to make sure he was "OK." She must have gotten her wires crossed somewhere. She had given off a weird vibe, too, when he asked her about Sully. Something was going on there, and he needed to find out what it was so he could help her get back to normal.

"Sure, I'm OK." At that she only gave him another glare, so he cleared his throat and tried again, "Uh, why wouldn't I be OK? "

"Because when you came looking for me yesterday Angela said you looked like you were terribly upset about something. I know that I don't always give much credence to Angela's intuition, but she was positive that you were experiencing some sort of crisis. You're always the first one to help me when I have problems. I decided it was about time that I returned the favor."

Booth was taken aback at Brennan's explanation, such as it was. "You mean that just because Angela told you she thought that I looked upset, you canceled your vacation to look for me?" he asked incredulously.

If it was someone other than Temperance Brennan, he would have said she looked cagey. "Not exactly. At first I tried to get in touch with you to find out why you needed to see me so urgently. No one I talked to seemed to know where you were. I talked to your office and Rebecca and all they knew was that you were out of town. Even Dr. Wyatt came by the lab looking for you, wondering why you had missed your appointment. You told me you always make sure someone knows where you are, because of Parker. So when I couldn't track you down I got worried."

Booth gave Bones a searching look. Something about this just didn't sound right. He'd gone away for the weekend before without a search party being called out. Sure, he'd been a little abrupt with Angela, but the lack of sleep would do that to you. He was pretty sure that he hadn't given off any signals that would have told Angela he was having a "crisis," unless she was a lot better mind reader than he thought. He wondered what had really happened to set Bones off. For some reason, she wasn't telling him everything. It looked like he would have to dig deeper to find out exactly what had happened.

"It didn't occur to me that anyone would notice I was gone," he said reasonably. "I mean, it's not like you've ever commented before when I left for the weekend. I figured the only person who would really care is Parker, and he already knew I was going to be gone. And I left word at work. You were supposed to be leaving town yourself, so why would I tell you where I was going?"

When put like that, Booth's behavior sounded almost logical, which Brennan rejected immediately. "Well, as it turned out, I didn't go anywhere. Except here, of course. You left me an urgent message and then disappeared, so I got worried. What else was I supposed to do?" Brennan replied. She was evading his questions, and he knew it. She needed to figure out a way to get him to talk about his nightmares. If only Dr. Wyatt was here, he would know how to get Booth to open up. She was no good at that sort of thing, and Booth was a master at acting one way and thinking another. It was why he was so exceptional at undercover work.

Booth decided to take a little more time to figure out what method he needed to use to find out what he wanted to know without being too blatant about it. Brennan was usually pretty straightforward, but for some reason she was acting like she was hiding something.

"Look, Bones, it's almost dark. Let's go inside where it's warmer," he suggested, and led the way into the cabin. "Have a seat, Bones," Booth said as they entered the front room. "Do you want a drink? Or maybe some coffee?"

"No thank you," Brennan replied, sitting down on the sofa. "I'll take some bottled water if you have it." Brennan watched Booth surreptitiously. He looked exhausted, and he frowned as though his thoughts weren't particularly pleasant. She hoped that she could help him with that, as he had done for her so many times.

Booth handed her the water from the fridge and sat in the rocker. "Are you going to tell me why you're really here, Bones, or do I have to shine the bright lights in your eyes," he said suddenly, immediately going on the offensive. Maybe he could surprise the truth out of her. He was smiling, but his eyes looked like they did when he was interrogating a suspect—penetrating, probing, missing nothing. Seeley Booth was a very difficult man to lie to.

"I don't know what you mean, Booth," Brennan said defensively, "I told you why—I was worried about you."

"Yeah, but what you left out was _why_ you were worried. And don't give me that crap about Angela's intuition. If that was the only reason, you wouldn't have come chasing after me all the way out here."

Booth held her gaze for another few seconds. It was difficult for her to meet his eyes, but she did it. He sifted through what Brennan had said since she got here, and finally came up with the fact that no one other than Angela appeared to have told her anything alarming until she talked to Dr. Wyatt. Brennan might not put much faith in Angela's intuition, but surprisingly she had become quite a believer in Wyatt's abilities.

"You said Gordon Gordon came looking for me. Is that what set you off—something he said?" Booth asked abruptly.

Brennan was shocked at Booth's unerring ability to zero in on the right questions to ask. "Not really, except that he seemed very concerned about the way you were behaving," she said, looking down at her water. "He seemed to feel that something wasn't right with you."

"Bones, this is me you're talking to. He told you something, but it couldn't have been anything specific because of patient confidentiality. So what was it? You can tell me," Booth urged persuasively.

Brennan stood up and walked over to the fire. She had known she couldn't fool Booth for long. The logical thing to do was tell him the truth—get everything out into the open so that they could have a frank discussion. According to everything she had read, talking about his problems would help Booth work through them. On the other hand, she didn't want things to get sidetracked by whether or not Wyatt should have given her such a strong hint about Booth's problems. She didn't want that to happen. After all, Wyatt had only been trying to help Booth. She tried to think of something that would distract Booth and focus him on something else entirely. Suddenly, it came to her.

Straightening her shoulders, she turned around and faced him with her expression full of hurt and indignation. "I don't understand why you're acting like this, Booth. I'm your friend, your partner. Why are you giving me the third degree like I was one of your murder suspects when I'm only trying to help? I'm here because I thought you were in trouble and I was worried about you. When did that become a crime?" The beauty of it was that underneath it all she did feel hurt and indignant about Booth's attitude, so she wasn't lying. Luckily, Booth could nearly always be distracted by _her_ emotional problems.

The slight smile on Booth's face disappeared, to be replaced by a concerned frown. "Look, Bones, I'm not trying to give you the third degree. I'm sorry if it seemed that way. I'm just trying to figure out why all of a sudden you're acting like Dr. Phil doing an intervention and--listen, forget it. Thanks for being so concerned. I appreciate it, I really do." He hurried to change the subject, "Hey, you must be starved, driving all that way. Do you want something to eat? I've got bacon and eggs, bread, cheese, and salami. What'll you have?" Booth decided to let it go for now, since Bones was so upset about it. He'd get the truth from her later.

Brennan gave Booth a sweet smile, "Thank you, Booth, I _am_ hungry. I'll have a cheese omelet. And did you say you have coffee? I'll make a pot while you cook."

Booth shook his head as she turned toward the kitchen. The way to an anthropologist's heart was obviously through her stomach. He'd have to try to find out more later. They chatted together throughout the meal, each of them avoiding the topic that was most on his or her mind. Brennan offered to wash up since Booth had cooked, and he opted to dry. Afterward, they sat by the fire and drank the last of the coffee, talking about cases they had been working on, and Parker's architectural designs. Before either of them realized it, it was nine o'clock.

Booth suddenly realized that he had to figure out a way to tactfully show Bones the door. There was no way she could stay at the cabin--unless he was the one to leave.

"So, Bones, where were you planning to stay tonight?" he asked, trying not to sound too inhospitable.

"I hadn't really thought about it," Brennan replied. "Why? Isn't there enough room here?"

"There's enough room, but I really don't think it's a good idea, Bones," Booth replied uneasily. He had to get her to leave. If he had one of his nightmares while she was around, he didn't like to think what might happen. Once when his brother had tried to wake him, Booth had thought he was one of the torturers from his nightmare and had almost broken his arm before finally waking up. He was determined that nothing like that would ever happen again. He wasn't responsible for his actions when in the grip of the dream.

"Look, Bones, if you leave now, you should have plenty of time to get to the highway. There are a lot of motels there," he suggested, hurrying to open the door. The scene outside was like something from a horror movie. The fog was so thick you couldn't see two feet in front of you. "Damn," he muttered.

"Booth, I can't leave in this fog. I'd drive off the side of the mountain. Listen, there are two bedrooms and a couch in the living room. I doubt that you'll be able to hear me snoring from another room," Brennan said sarcastically.

"Fine," Booth said tightly, "But you have to promise me that you'll keep your door locked and not come out for any reason, no matter what."

"Why, for goodness' sake?" Brennan asked. "What if I have to go to the bathroom or get a drink of water?" She was determined to get Booth to admit that he was having nightmares, and this was an ideal way to do it.

"Listen, Bones, this is non-negotiable," Booth said. "If you don't promise me, I'll have to sleep out in my car."

"But Booth…"

"Look, I have nightmares, all right? Bad ones. If you tried to wake me, or disturbed me somehow, I might accidentally hurt you." Booth confessed reluctantly. "I absolutely refuse to take that chance."

"All right, Booth. I'm sorry. Of course I promise," Brennan said soothingly. She was so relieved that his secret was finally out. It meant that they could begin to talk about it.

"What kind of nightmares do you have?" Brennan asked softly. There was a long pause while Booth agonized over how much to reveal. Nothing on his face showed his struggle. He looked distant and impassive. Finally, his answer came, low and difficult to hear.

"Different things," he muttered. "Mostly about combat, that kind of thing." He didn't meet her eyes because it was something he had admitted to only a handful of people in his life. Even though he knew it was something he couldn't help, he felt somehow ashamed to admit it to Brennan.

"It's OK, Booth. I understand. I have nightmares too: about Kenton and the dogs, about the death squads in South America. Believe me, I understand," Brennan said gently.

Booth did not respond directly to that, but she thought he looked slightly less tense. Instead he said, "You can have first turn in the bathroom while I bank down the fire. The room on the left is the one with the best lock, so you should take that one. I'll sleep on the couch."

When Brennan came out of the bathroom, Booth was staring out the window. He turned to say goodnight and his breath stuck in his throat. With the flickering firelight on her face, she looked like a golden goddess of old, the kind who struck down the mere mortals who dared to look at her. Even in a tank top and drawstring pants, she was the loveliest thing he'd ever seen. He was grateful that the shadows hid his body's obvious reaction.

"I put a couple bottles of water in your room," he said in a husky voice. "There's a chamber pot in the corner if you need it." He hoped that the mundane words would disguise what he was feeling.

"Thank you, Booth." She reached out and touched his arm. "I hope you have only sweet dreams tonight," she whispered, and impulsively leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Good night." She didn't wait for his reply, but quickly turned and went into the bedroom.

As the door shut behind her, Booth whispered, "Good night, Bones," knowing that she couldn't hear him. He gave a heavy sigh and dropped down onto the couch. He didn't think he'd have any trouble with the nightmare tonight. He was going to be awake all night waiting for his body to quit aching for Brennan. He wondered how much sleep deprivation it would take before a person was babbling like an idiot. In his case, it probably wouldn't take a whole lot more. He tried not to think of how Brennan had looked in the firelight. This was going to be one of the longest nights of his life. He closed his eyes in exhaustion and prayed for morning to come quickly.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note**: Sorry that it has taken so long to continue but I was having some trouble with writing this story. I had several narrative paths to choose from as far as how far to take the B/B dynamic. Once I made that decision, I then had to try to get the writing to come out the way I wanted it to. It's an ongoing process, but I think I at least have the basic outline down now, so I hope it won't be as long until the next chapter. I know it's a little shorter than usual, but I thought that was better than waiting a week or so longer. Thanks to all of you who are still with me. I'd appreciate your reviews, as always, assuming you haven't given up on me.

* * *

Brennan lay in the bunk, staring into the darkness. It was comfortable enough, but she couldn't sleep. She needed to figure out a way to get Booth to open up and talk about his nightmare. In doing her research about PTSD, she had read about how therapists worked in such cases, but she didn't know if she could emulate them. It was like reading another language where colloquial expressions were being used: you knew what the individual words meant, but the context did not make sense because you didn't know what the colloquial expressions meant. She hated being unable to do something to help Booth. He was her partner and her friend, and she cared about him.

Strange as it seemed, despite their obvious differences, she and Booth were a lot alike. They had both experienced great emotional trauma and loss at an early age—herself at 15 and Booth in combat when he was just a few years older. They were both extremely good at hiding that inner, sensitive core of themselves, but she had to admit that Booth was much better at it than she was. She might not know much about psychology, but given Booth's personality she knew it would be difficult to get him to cooperate. It had taken the threat of losing his job to get him to work with Wyatt. Booth was the typical alpha male—seemingly raised from childhood to always take charge and be in control, never admitting the need for help for fear of it being taken as a sign of inner weakness.

Booth had barely been able to admit to her that he suffered from nightmares, and even then had only done so as a last resort to convince her to sleep behind a locked door. She had to think of a way to convince him to talk to her. She sighed in frustration. Or maybe she should simply try to convince him to go back to DC and talk to Wyatt. That way, he would be assured of getting the right kind of help. But that made her feel so useless—she wanted to be able to _do_ something, not just sit by and be supportive. That was doubtless how the friends and family of all PTSD victims felt. Maybe she should just put the problem into abeyance until morning. She hadn't slept much last night, and between the worry about Booth and the long drive, she felt exhausted. Rationally speaking, she should be able to think of a better plan tomorrow after getting some much-needed rest. After a while, her eyes finally began to feel heavy and she felt herself beginning to fall asleep.

Brennan had just dozed off when a noise made her sit bolt upright in bed. I had sounded like Booth's voice. Calling her. Suddenly it came again: "BONES!" It sounded like he was in agony. Jumbled thoughts of Booth somehow falling and breaking something went through her head. She got out of bed quickly and went to the door, listening. She had promised Booth not to come out, but what if he had fallen and was lying injured on the floor. She heard Booth moan, and that made her decision for her. She turned the lock and opened the door as quietly as she could, peering into the darkened room before her, trying to see where Booth was. It wouldn't do to fall over him and possibly cause further injury . . .

* * *

Booth was running. His legs ached and his lungs felt like they were bursting, but he had to keep going. He had to get there in time. He had to--or Bones would die and it would be his fault. After what seemed like miles, he finally got to the right spot and started digging frantically with his hands. She had to be there. He had seen the puff of dust rising from this spot. His desperation increased as he moved in ever-increasing circles around the spot, but found nothing. Still he kept digging, going deeper, fruitlessly searching for some sign of her. He dug until his lungs were choked with dust. He dug until his fingers bled, but she wasn't there. The tears ran down his face and left tracks in the dust. He couldn't find her. She wasn't here. God, he couldn't bear to live if he didn't find her because her death would be his fault. He had sworn that he would always protect her, and he had failed. He couldn't bear it. He dropped his face into his hands and wept. It was over. She had trusted him, and he had failed her.

"OH GOD! NO! BONES!"

"BONES!" he cried again, his voice hoarse and broken.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note**: I've been writing and rewriting this chapter for so long it's all beginning to sound like gibberish when I read it. I hope it sounds a little better when _you_ read it, and that you react with appreciation rather than derision. But go ahead and let me know what you think either way. I can take it.

* * *

Brennan tiptoed out into the darkened living room. The only light was the dim glow of the now dying fire. On the sofa bed, Booth still seemed to be asleep, but he was moving restlessly. Then his voice came again.

"Bones!"

This time it sounded different. She was definitely no expert at reading people's feelings from their voices, but now Booth's voice had a despairing, hopeless sound to it. Whatever dream was causing this, she sincerely hoped that he would never again have to experience anything like it. After all he had been through, he deserved some peace of mind. It seemed to Brennan that the only way to help him was to wake him, but she knew she had to do it slowly and quietly, without getting too close to him. She inched closer, saying his name softly.

"Booth . . ."

There was no apparent response from the figure on the bed. Worse, based on the sounds he was making, Brennan thought that in the dream he must be in pain, or crying. She couldn't stand it. She had to _do_ something. Without thinking, she moved to stand beside the bed and leaned over him in concern, her only thought to help her partner.

"Booth, it's me . . . Temperance."

He moved so quickly that she didn't have time to react. Without quite knowing how she got there, she found herself on the bed with Booth. His arms were around her in a desperate grip and he was muttering her name over and over in a hoarse, low voice. Instinctively she tried to comfort him by putting her arms around him and saying his name softly. Intent as she was on trying to bring him out of his nightmare, she was shocked by his reaction.

Something seemed to change in the way he was holding her. Whatever he was dreaming had changed from pain to . . . something else. His hands moved to slide up under the back of her tank top as easily as if he had done it a thousand times before. Like a blind man's hands in unfamiliar territory, they moved hesitantly at first. Then they seemed to grow more confident, and soon began tracing slow, sensual patterns on her naked skin. His head moved and his mouth began to move from behind her ear slowly down the side of her neck. At first motionless with shock, Brennan couldn't think what to do because what was happening did not seem possible. For a few seconds her brain was unable to function properly. One part of it was still telling her to wake Booth up and try to get him to discuss his nightmare. But the other, more insistent, more _dominant_ part wanted Booth to continue because what he was doing felt so good—so _right_. She couldn't understand what was happening to her. She was confused by the feelings he was arousing. It was as though she had become part of his dream, and with him there in the warm darkness she could let go and let herself feel all of the things she had been denying for so long. Or was this happening because _she_ was the one who was dreaming? She closed her eyes and concentrated, determined to find the answer to that question.

Booth's mouth was moving with tantalizing slowness along her clavicle. It did not make Brennan feel like she was floating in a dream. Instead, she wanted to grab his hair and move his mouth lower, where she needed it to be. She wanted to feel his mouth on hers until they were both breathless. And she wanted to slide her hands under his T-shirt and explore the muscles of his back, while her mouth moved down his chest to. . . _what was she thinking_? This was _Booth_. He was her partner, not her lover. _He_ was dreaming, but _she_ wasn't. She had to figure out how to stop this before Booth suffered even more psychological damage. She was supposed to be the rational one, and she knew that somehow she had to _think_. But his mouth was moving back up the side of her neck to the delicate skin under her jaw, and his hands were sending delicious, pleasurable sensations through every part of her, and she knew that she wasn't dreaming. The reason her body didn't want her to think was because she didn't want him to stop.

When his mouth finally covered hers she couldn't help herself. She kissed him back. His tongue slid between her lips and mated with hers. He moved his hips restlessly against hers and left her in no doubt about what he wanted. She couldn't ever remember wanting someone this badly this fast. One kiss from Booth and she went up in flames, but she wanted more. She wanted to touch him the way he was touching her. She moved her hands to his waist and her fingers found the smooth, hard muscles beneath his shirt. Her hips lifted urgently against his and her nails dug into his back at the feel of him so close to where she wanted him to be. On that thought her hands fumbled with the waistband of his sweatpants, just as his mouth touched her breast. The moan in her throat was low and involuntary, but she felt Booth react almost instantly to the sound.

For a moment his body was motionless--it felt fused with hers as though separation was impossible. Then he moved off of her so fast, he left her gasping. She could hear him stumbling across the room, breathing hard. It took her a stunned few seconds before she could turn her head to look at him. He was leaning against the wall with both hands, eyes closed, and his chest was heaving as though he had run a race. He looked exhausted, distraught and totally devastated. Instinctively wanting to help, she got up and moved toward him.

"Booth . . ."

"Bones, please, just . . . give me a few minutes, OK?"

"Booth, why don't you sit down and I'll . . ." she began, reaching again for his arm.

"Damn it, Bones! Just leave me alone!"

"All right. There's no need to shout. I was only trying to help," she said quietly, moving back to sit on the bed. She tried, but wasn't entirely successful in keeping the hurt tone out of her voice. He wasn't the only one whose body was aching at being deprived of what it wanted.

Booth turned his face away from her and closed his eyes. The hurt look on her face made him feel awful, but the last thing he needed was for Bones to see the effect she was still having on him. If she touched him again, it would make matters even worse. His mind still couldn't quite believe what his body was telling him had happened. One minute he had been having one of his recurring dreams about Bones, and the next minute he woke up on top of her. God! She must really be disgusted with him. She was his partner, not his lover, and the first chance he got he was practically humping her leg. He wouldn't have any trouble getting her to agree to end their partnership after this.

He willed himself to get back to the quiet, patient, calm place he needed to be in to function. He used the same method he had used countless times when he was a sniper. It had never failed him, and after a few minutes he began to feel calmer. But his brain still couldn't seem to formulate a coherent sentence. At this point he was so punchy from lack of sleep he was beginning to have trouble figuring out if he was awake or dreaming, and that in itself was a danger sign. Hell, maybe he _had_ lost his mind and it was only a matter of time before he completely lost his grip on reality. Then he'd wake up in a strait jacket and find that six months had passed. He rubbed his hand over his face and tried again to pull himself together. He heard the soft sounds of Bones changing her position on the couch. He could feel her eyes on him, watching and waiting--that much definitely seemed real. No doubt she was examining all of the pertinent facts and trying to come up with a logical theory for his behavior. Too bad there wasn't one. He and logic had parted company sometime around Monday, when he had seen her in her office kissing Sully passionately, oblivious to Booth and anyone else who might happen to see them.

Booth winced reflexively at the pain in his gut that image always brought. Although he had tried to blame his problems on his combat nightmares and Epps, deep down he knew what the real trigger was: he was never going to be with the woman he loved because she loved someone else. Epps' death at his hands had bothered him, sure, but it was realizing that Bones was happier with Sully than she would ever be with him that had caused his current meltdown. Then there were the events of tonight. He wished he knew how to say what he had to say. After what he had done what could he say? So much for ending their partnership and retaining her friendship and respect. He had never felt less like facing her, but he didn't really see any possible excuse for delay.

He was finally able to walk past her to the other side of the bed and sit down in the rocker without embarrassing himself. He turned on the lamp as he sat down, although he knew it would probably be easier for him to say what he had to say in the dark. This was going to be the most difficult thing he had ever had to do during their time together, but he owed it to her to be honest. He braced himself for what might possibly be his last conversation with Dr. Temperance Brennan, and began to speak.


End file.
